Sidestep
by Sockmalanta
Summary: Being a revolutionary is much less pleasant than you might think.


Johnny lands much harder than he intended to, and he gasps in pain as he feels his ankle and knee collapse out from under him. He shoves himself to his feet and limps away as quickly as he can; it's not very fast, but the sounds of his dying compatriots and the security bots tailing them are fading away. Rounding the corner, he presses himself against a wall and waits; when he doesn't hear the tell-tale whistle of a security bot latching onto a target he sighs in relief, sagging against the wall.

Using the wall for support, Johnny hobbles down the hallway towards a Circus of Values. There's no way he can afford a hypo, but he has just enough cash to buy a first aid kit; he smiles wryly at the price. "Fort Frolic, huh?" he says softly, shaking his head at the exorbitant price. He tucks the first aid kit under his arm and limps towards a few slot machines tucked into a small alcove. Circling around behind them, Johnny slides to the ground, leaning back against the machine and closing his eyes with a sigh. "Christ," he mumbles, "what a day." He swipes his hand across his forehead, grimacing at the sticky blood smeared across his face.

Now that the adrenaline is wearing off, Johnny can tell how badly hurt he actually is. His leg is throbbing and he thinks he might have done something to his wrist, as well. He's bleeding in half-a-dozen places, and when he looks down he sees a piece of shrapnel imbedded in his arm. _Probably from when..._ Johnny swallows and tries not to think of Hawkeye's body flying through the air, or the noises he made when the Big Daddy drilled him into the wall. Johnny feels light-headed and sick to his stomach, although he doesn't know how much of that is from his injuries and how much is from the events of the day.

Worst of all, he doesn't know where his pistol is. _Must've dropped it somewhere,_ he thinks, patting his pockets in the hope that it will present itself. No dice. He sighs. _Well_, he thinks, _at least I'm probably safe here._

"Hello?"

Johnny stiffens. He had been so wrapped up in his own misery that he hadn't heard the approaching footsteps. Now, silently cursing his inattention, he tries to hide himself more fully behind the slot machines, but his injured knee refuses to cooperate. When he tries to push himself forwards, shifting his weight partially onto his leg, it spasms and he drops to the ground with a grunt of pain.

_Oh... oh no,_ he thinks, gritting his teeth and wrapping himself around his knee. Like everyone else in Rapture he's seen the hastily erected gallows; he also knows that the people who are sent there to die there are the lucky ones. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries hard not to think about being dragged away and taken apart piece by piece, then being sewn back together into a diving suit. It's been a long time since he set foot in a cathedral, so Johnny is surprised to find that he still remembers all of the Ave Maria.

"Jesus Christ!" The stranger sounds horrified, and not in the way that spells Johnny's impending doom. Johnny risks opening his eyes.

Instead of staring down one of Ryan's bully-boys, a horrified-looking young man is standing in front of him. The newcomer adjusts his glasses nervously, staring down at Johnny.

"What happened? Who are you?" the stranger asks.

Johnny takes courage in the fact that the stranger looks about as comfortable with the situation as Johnny feels. "Johnny,' he says, trying to sound like the revolutionary he wants to be. "Who're _you_?"

Despite his posturing, Johnny is twenty, and scared. While he'd rather die than admit it to Atlas, who he idolises with a ferocity that surprises him sometimes, what he wants more than anything else is to steal a bathysphere and leave Rapture entirely. He has dreams sometimes of floating up gently towards the surface, up to the sun he hasn't seen in eight years. He imagines the bathysphere ascending, going faster and faster as it nears the open air, before bobbing up like a cork on the tranquil seas.

He is quite proud when his voice only wavers a little bit.

"I... Kyle," says the stranger, smiling uncomfortably. "Kyle Fitzpatrick." He hesitates for a second, then sticks out a hand. "Nice to meet you?" he says. It sounds more like a question than a statement.

Johnny gets up slowly, holding onto the wall for support. The room sways back and forth and for a second Johnny is worried he'll end up back on the floor again, but he manages to keep his balance. "Johnny," he says, shaking Fitzpatrick's hand. "A pleasure."

Fitzpatrick starts, glancing to the side. Johnny swallows hard; he's a mess, he hasn't got a gun, he's out of EVE, and he doesn't have any assurance Fitzpatrick isn't going to hand him over to Ryan's pseudo police force if they come a-knocking. He relaxes incrementally when nothing comes bursting out at them, but stiffens again when Fitzpatrick abruptly throws Johnny's arm across his shoulders.

"Wait, no!" Fitzpatrick yelps when Johnny flinches away. Johnny's knee buckles under him and both men nearly go down. Johnny catches himself on his wounded wrist and has to bite his lip to keep from crying out, Fitzpatrick steps on his toes, and he manages to elbow Fitzpatrick pretty hard, but they manage to get stabilised.

"I just..." Fitzpatrick has gone white. "I'm not gonna hurt you. Look, I-I'll take you somewhere safe, all right?"

Johnny shrugs. Anywhere is better than here. Fitzpatrick hesitates, but Johnny keeps his mouth shut until Fitzpatrick starts to move, and they begin to stagger into Fort Frolic.

* * *

Wow, I haven't written fic in yeeeeeears. Ahahaha I'll look at this in a week and weep tears of blood.

One of the things I always wonder about in dystopias is what happened to all the ordinary people – the game is about Ryan and Fontaine and Tenenbaum and so on, but I like the unimportant people better.

This is the first unbeta'd chapter of an ongoing series story plot thing and I'd like to hear your thoughts! Please feel free to point out errors or bits that are less effective than they could be.


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